


Bloody Knuckles

by aether_asf



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Betaed, DNF, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tommy is the manipulator, Trauma, damn shawty george has trauma, dreamnotfound, mlm, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29022744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aether_asf/pseuds/aether_asf
Summary: An AU where Tommy was the manipulator.Dream is sure that all he did was try to protect his friends from who he thought was a bad person. But as Tommy continues to visit him every single day in prison, he is convinced more and more that he deserves this punishment.When George comes to visit, he finally has a chance to wake from this terrible dream.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 265





	1. Into Fire

**Author's Note:**

> hi lol <3  
> um this concept has been on my mind for a while 🤔🤔 so enjoy this ig 🧍♂️ expect slow updates i have school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: su*cide, manipulation

“Hello Dream!”

Dream dreads that voice.

The same one he hears nearly every day. The lava stops flowing, the sound of pistons fill his ears, and that terrifying teen in his red and white shirt torments him for hours.

“...Hello, Tommy.” He doesn’t have the strength to do it today.

“How much have you written of my novels, bitch?” Tommy saunters toward Dream with a laugh, a smile on his face and his eyes bright.

“As much as you asked for,” Dream replies with a sigh. He grabs his precious books out of the small chest, the only possessions he has left, and hands them to the boy.

He watches with a faint tremor in his hands as Tommy reads each one, flicking each page with mild interest. Then he scolds himself for being even slightly afraid of the reaction of a sixteen year old.

Tommy looks up and meets his eyes. “Wow, Dream, these were really great,” he stands, and faces the lava. Dream ponders over the use of the past tense. “I wonder how long you spent on these?”

“Uh, well... All night and, most of yesterday...” He can see where this is going, and lets himself deflate.

“Well, then I guess you’ll need something else to fill all the spare time you have now, huh?” Tommy half-turns to Dream, grinning. His blue eyes burn into Dream’s covered face, almost as if he could see what he hid underneath his mask.

Dream replies in a small, trembling voice. “Please... I spent a lot of time on those. Why did you ask me to do it if you were just going to—“

He doesn’t get to finish. Tommy throws the leather-backed books into the lava blocking his escape, all the while with a grin, watching them burn.

“—do that.”

Tommy’s blonde hair glints in the light of the lava. “I don’t know... because it’s fun? Watching you _suffer_?” He strides over with a laugh to Dream’s pitiful clock, watching it _tick tock tick_.

“...You’re a horrible person, Tommy.” Dream cowers against the obsidian walls of his inescapable prison.

Tommy shrugs. “Maybe. But at least now you can’t do anything about it. There’s nothing between me and my discs. There’s nothing between me and taking over your SMP.”

“I don’t understand... what I did to you. Why you’re doing this to me... Do I really deserve all this?” Dream can’t recall a time he’s ever been more confused and conflicted.

“You don’t understand? You’re a monster, Dream. You belong here.” Tommy turns to face him with the darkest look he’s ever seen him make. It makes him want to curl up into a ball and die, more so than he already does.

“...I belong here?”

“Yes! Of course you do,” Tommy slowly walks toward him, and Dream wishes he could sink into the purple-tinted floor. “Don’t you know what you did? To your server? To your friends?”

With Dream’s position, Tommy towers over him, looking down at him with a blank expression. “...My friends?”

“Oh come on, Dream. You even admitted to blowing up the community house.”

“Am I really a bad person, Tommy?” He doesn’t know why he feels so bad. He was only trying to protect his friends, he was sure... _It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. None of this should be happening._

“Don’t you know...? You tried to kill Tubbo...” Tommy feigns sadness. “My best friend, Dream.”

_Did he?_

“But I wouldn’t... I was trying to help them, I’m sure...”

Tommy crouches in front of Dream’s retreating, defeated figure. “If you can’t even trust _yourself_... How can I trust you enough to let you roam free?” He waits a beat. “Don’t worry yourself too much, Dream... At least I’m still your friend, right?”

And for the first time since Dream can remember, he starts to cry.

It starts off strangely, with a weird lump in his throat that he can’t swallow around. A pain forms, and he frowns at the unfamiliarity. His eyes well up. They spill over. He wipes at his cheeks, confused and frustrated.

“Aw, look, I made Dream cry! Pogchamp!” Tommy stands, clearly satisfied.

He calls to Sam, but Dream doesn’t hear it right, like it’s coming from the end of a tunnel. “Bye Dream! I’ll be back tomorrow!” He can almost hear the smile in his tormenting, sugar-coated voice.

He wraps his arms around his knees and brings them to his chest, having given up on wiping away his tears. His vision darkens; he can hardly see despite the bright orange glow from the lava wall of his prison. Thoughts race in his mind and he can’t think straight anymore. His chest tightens. He can’t breathe.

He rips off his stupid, stupid mask and flings it somewhere.

_Am I really a bad person? Did I really do all those things? Can I trust Tommy? Is Tommy really trying to be my friend? What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong?_

At the forefront of these frustrated wonderings, and Dream can’t figure out why: _Does George miss me like I miss him?_

The darkness in his eyes brings no answer. He crawls forward until he feels the sickening heat of his golden prison, the waves of it licking at his exposed skin. He chokes on a breath, inhaling the singing air, and thrusts a hand forward, letting the liquid fire completely melt it.

He cries and cries and cries, pushing himself forward until his body is engulfed in watery flames.

He burns. And he doesn’t stop burning until he dies.


	2. Tears That Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: su*cide, gaslighting

It’s Dream’s fifth week in prison. 

He tried, really, really tried to keep track of the days, counting them off in his head and spending countless hours staring at the sad clock on the walls of the room that seemed to grow smaller every day until it became a meaningless yellow shape. 

He lost count of the days around the middle of his second week. 

He still tries to keep up a routine. After he drops into water every morning, or rather, what he  _ assumes _ is morning, he runs on the spot for a while to work down some of his urge to move. Next he stares at the increasingly inviting lava, the metaphorical bars to his cell. After an hour or two spent deep in thought, trying to sort through what he remembers and what Tommy tells him he’s  supposed to remember, he sorts through the books in the chest that is somehow refilled every time Tommy dumps his hard work into the fire. Next, he forces the raw, bitter potatoes Sam gives him down his throat, the taste of them, at the beginning of his stay repulsive and horrid, now as bland as plain rice. 

After that, he usually expects to hear Tommy’s voice around midday, or at least what his clock  _ says _ is midday. His internal sense of time has all but vanished, leaving him in a state of near-constant panic and frustration at not being able to see the sun or feel a cool breeze. Dream thinks about what it was like to touch grass: feeling the dirt gather between his toes, lying in a soft green pillow full of life and quiet, peaceful noise, the smell of rain that drifts up from the damp earth. 

_George is always on his mind, no matter what he’s doing._

Today, Dream thinks, might be a Wednesday. He was pondering over pushing his way into the sickeningly hot lava once more as he heard Tommy’s voice, calling out the same “Hey Dream!” he hears almost every day. 

The lava falls. Dream can see the tips of blonde hair, the same shade of blonde he’s come to shrink away from and dread. 

He almost starts crying again, and wants to slap himself for it. 

“Hello Tommy. How’s your day been?” He doesn’t know why he’s being nice to this child.  _ Maybe he should just push him into the lava and take his last life...  _

“Probably better than yours,” Tommy replies with a snicker. “I brought someone along with me today!” 

At that, Dream’s head snaps up to see two figures instead of one. They step off the bridge and the lava closes in on them again, and Dream notices that the person Tommy brought with him was Tubbo. 

Dream starts to tremble, his breath becoming ragged and quick. An image flashes through his mind, one of him pinning down Tubbo’s tiny frame, a black-bladed sword pressed to his throat, and hears Tubbo’s terrified wails of  _ “He’s going to kill me, Tommy!”  _

_ That wasn’t... That couldn’t be me! I wouldn’t... I would never...  _

He’s brought back to reality with a kick to his shin. 

“Hey dickhead, what’s wrong with you today? Perk up a little.” Dream is, for once, glad for the mask covering his terrified, exhausted features. 

It takes a moment for him to work up the courage to speak. “Hi, Tubbo. How’ve you been?” 

Tubbo visibly swallows. “I’ve been good, I, uh... I’ve really enjoyed living in Snowchester.” 

“That sounds great. I heard Jack lives with you too?” It’s difficult to keep up idle conversation when he hasn’t spoken to anyone but Tommy and Sam for the last month. 

“He does! It’s great.” There’s a beat of silence, one of which Tommy grows bored of. 

“Alright, well, why don’t you show us what you’ve written since last we spoke?” Tommy asks, grinning. 

Dream steels himself for what’s to come. He reaches into his chest, pulls out the familiar shape of the books and hands them to Tommy with a slight shake in his hands. Tommy gives a couple to Tubbo, flicks through his own and sets them down with a sigh. 

Tubbo is still absorbed in his own reading, so Tommy and Dream make eye contact for a few moments. It’s like there’s something that Tommy is trying to communicate, something that Dream can’t quite read. 

But it almost seems like:  _ “Nobody’s ever going to believe you, even if you  _ can _ get rid of me.”  _ A blink. And then: _“So go ahead and try.”_ A challenge. 

Dream coughs out a small laugh as Tubbo finishes reading. He hands the books back to Dream with a smile, which almost seems genuine until he looks away quickly. 

Tommy makes no move to grab them from him.

It’s become so routine that Dream looks to Tommy with a bewildered expression. “You’re not gonna—?“ 

“So, Tubbo, do you want to say anything else to our good buddy Dream?” Tommy cuts in. 

“Um, no, not really,” Tubbo shrugs. “It was nice seeing you, Dream. Those books are good; who would’ve thought you could write?” 

“Yeah, it’s... crazy...” Dream trails off as he continues to stare at Tommy in disbelief. Of course he wouldn’t burn the books around Tubbo. He’s trying to convince them that  _Dream_ is the villain. 

_ But... I  _ am _ the villain. Right?  _

“You can go then, Tubbo, just call out to Sam. I just wanna talk to Dream for a bit longer.” Tubbo looks uncomfortable and shifts from foot to foot as the bridge comes and goes when he leaves. 

The lava falls for a second time. 

Tommy’s facade drops, his face slipping from his easy-going smile to a bored frown. 

“Why didn’t you burn my books?” 

“Why didn’t I what?” Tommy scoffs. 

“Burn my... books...” Tommy watches him with feigned confusion. 

“Why would I do that? We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

Dream starts to panic. He’s watched Tommy do that very thing for weeks on end, now, he’s sure of it. He’s not crazy. He knows what happened to him. 

“I know that you’ve been doing it, Tommy, you can’t worm your way out of it.” 

“Dream...” Tommy’s expression falls. If Dream didn’t know any better, he might’ve even thought he looked sad. “Why do you think I would do that to you?” 

“Because you did! Stop lying, Tommy! What do you have to gain?” 

Tommy reaches out to put his hand on Dream’s shoulder before Dream slaps it away. He even has the audacity to look hurt. “Dream, I... think you might need some help. I know it’s been hard for you, here, but I just can’t trust you out there. Especially now that you’re making things up. You _understand_ , right?” It wasn’t a question. 

“But I...” All the looks Tommy has given him, all the laughing and jeering and sneering, all the putting ideas and thoughts in his head, convincing him of things that never happened... Was that even true? 

Dream lets his head fall to his hands. He’s _so fucking_ _ confused_. 

Tommy seems satisfied with his reaction, and calls to Sam. Dream can’t bring himself to watch him leave, but as the lava falls once more, so do the tears. He held them off for as long as he could, but he couldn’t ignore the lump in his throat and the stinging in his eyes. He stumbles forward, ignoring the heat that dries his salty tears to his face, and pushes forward until he can see nothing but red.

The tears, which once felt like a relief, now taste like betrayal as they burn his scarred face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i swear i’m not a dream apologist i just like this idea


	3. Thoughts of You

Months pass, and Dream has settled into some semblance of a routine. 

_ Still no sign of George.  _

Tommy comes less regularly now, clearly bored of toying with a man who’s sent himself to the brink of insanity. 

On the days he does visit, Dream visibly panics, immediately heading to his book chest and sits hugging his knees while he stares straight ahead. Most days he doesn’t even try to engage in conversation with the teen, not until he has Tommy yelling at him to do something other than “looking like a total emo”. 

Following routine, he throws himself into the wall of lava right after Tommy leaves. 

The golden liquid has become less of a deterrent and a cage and more of a comfort, like a too-hot blanket on a summer night that engulfs him whole until he suffocates, and no longer has to deal with the heat. 

Sometimes Dream does it just because he’s bored. Other times he does it because the taste of potatoes has become too familiar to his mouth. Again other times he does it just to stop the pain that comes with crying, or a better description could be bawling his guts out. 

Today has become infinitely too much for him. 

In a fit of raw, animalistic rage, he starts screaming,  _throat-tearing_ , his spit and snot and tears collecting in a puddle on the deep purple floor, he stands, and beats his fists against the practically unbreakable block, pounding his knuckles into a bloody mess. He pauses only to rip off his ridiculous mask and forcefully throw it into the lava, watching it burn with trembling hands.

_He needs to get out._

_ He cannot stop thinking of George._

He turns back to the wall and beats it again, letting his anger block out his pain. 

Of all the time Dream has spent in this damn prison, the only constant thought had been that of _George_. 

Of all the confusion that Tommy had sent his way, the gaslighting and clear manipulation, the person that unknowingly kept him going was _George_. 

Of all the times he’s felt himself burn, his very last thought was always that of _George_.

_George, George, George_. 

And he can’t _fucking_ figure out  why. 

He stops, finally, resting his head against the wall.

“Get.  _ Out_. Of my head,” Dream snarls, clenching his jaw. 

He doesn’t even know why he bothers to speak to George when, as if it wasn’t obvious by the clear lack of  _ visiting_, George was not interested in him. 

Dream sinks to the floor. He lifts his hands to inspect the damage he’s done to himself, noticing with a wince that he might have fractured a knuckle or two. He sits with his back against the very wall he just beat the shit out of, and lets the blood dry. 

He does the only other thing he can think of to do. 

He writes. 

Dream pulls out a book from his chest, the worn leather scratching his fingertips. The smell of old paper engulfs him, a scent that had once been comforting and welcome, but now only brought him memories of a life that he no longer has. 

_A life with George._

He takes his quill that perches on the lectern, and begins to dabble in his suffocating thoughts. 

_ What are you doing to me, George?  _

_ Have you forgotten about me already?  _

_ I made you king. That was... to protect you, I think. That’s not what Tommy says, though. He tells me I made you king, and then I... dethroned you? But that was also to protect you...  _

_ I miss you, George.  _

_ I love you, George.  _

_ Every waking moment is filled with thoughts of you. I can’t get you out of my head. Why won’t you get out of my head?  _

_ Maybe, if I try hard enough, I can imagine what your skin feels like under my hand. But I’ve always thought that the best experiences were the in-person kind, not the imaginative ones.  _

_ If I try hard enough, I can pretend you’re here. I can believe you’re here, that you still care about me. I miss your warmth, your sunniness, your humour, your smile, the way you smell like grass after it’s just finished raining, cleansing and calming._

_ I miss your voice.  _

_ I miss your stupid little goggles and your stupid blue t-shirt.  _

_ I miss your stupid face.  _

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid.  _

_ I hate you, George.  _

_ Please get out of my head.  _

Dream gently closes the book before any more tears can spill on the page. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying until he couldn’t see what he was writing anymore from the blurriness in his eyes. He lets the quill fall to the floor, and rests his forehead on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. 

If he can will it enough, maybe the thoughts will just disappear. 

The imprisoned man was about to throw himself into his comforting, fiery blanket before he’s startled from his seat on the floor by an unfairly familiar British accent. 

“Hello, Dream. I missed you.”

His head snaps up. Dream panics for the billionth time. 

His mask. He threw his goddamn mask in the fire, and now George can see every inch of his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYO THE HOMIE FINALLY SHOWED UP ⁉️⁉️⁉️ finally smh 🙄🙏🏼


	4. Scar Tissue

“Hello, Dream. I missed you.” 

After realising his face was exposed, Dream’s hands flew to his face, attempting to cover as much as he could. 

“I, um... already saw,” George starts slowly. 

“Give a guy some warning next time?” Dream peeks through his fingers and watches as George shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably and fidgets with his hands. 

Dream says nothing, seeing as he just wrote in a book that he hates the boy standing in front of him. 

A tense minute of silence passes, stretching out in the closed-off, guarded atmosphere. 

George grows weary of it and starts again. 

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t come visit earlier. There’s been a lot going on, and I—“ 

“And you what?” Dream cuts in. “Couldn’t be bothered to see me? Didn’t want to make the effort?” 

George’s shocked expression isn’t lost on Dream, even through the limited vision of the space between his fingers. 

“Dream...” 

“Didn’t want to see what it’s really like in here?” 

“Please, I—“ 

“Didn’t want to admit that you hate me? Didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t care less that I’m in here? That you couldn’t care less about  _me_?” 

George’s eyes well up. Dream can see him shaking, but he’s  angry. Dream knows he’s cutting deep, leaving scars that won’t heal, but he’s too far in to stop now. 

“Maybe you just didn’t want to accept the fact that you made a mistake. That you took Tommy’s side instead of someone’s who you  _knew_ was in the right. Someone who you  _knew_ would do anything in the world for you,” Dream snarls. He doesn’t bother to hide his face anymore, instead clenching them to fists at his sides as he stands. “Maybe you just didn’t want to admit that you betrayed my trust. That you betrayed  _me,_ ” he snaps, stepping closer. “Maybe you just couldn’t give a _shit_ —“ 

“ _Dream!_ ” George yells, louder than Dream has ever heard him before. His voice wavers. Dream takes a step back. 

“...What?”

“I couldn’t come see you, because I was afraid of what would happen if I did.” It feels like Dream’s head isn’t screwed on right. 

“It’s been _months_ , George. Actually I don’t even know what day it is, or even if it’s night or day or what month it is, in fact i don’t even know how long it’s been because I keep losing count, and I’m sure I saw Tommy messing with the clock so I can’t even trust that and I—“ Dream’s ramble gets cut off. 

“Can you let me finish?” 

Dream’s hands fall to his sides, and looks at the ground beneath George’s feet. He hadn’t even realised he’d been running them through his hair. “Sure, go ahead,” he says through clenched teeth. He doesn’t look up because he knows he’d crumble if he saw the tears staining George’s cheeks. 

George audibly takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I... gave you the wrong idea by not visiting you. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you, about coming to see you. I only showed up today, because something felt wrong and I couldn’t hold back the need I felt to see you.” He stops for a moment, letting Dream absorb it all. “I couldn’t stay away for much longer, Dream. I couldn’t keep acting like I didn’t care, like I didn’t want you in my life still.” A pause. “...You’re my best friend, Dream.” 

“Are you trying to say I _shouldn’t_ be angry at you?” Dream still hasn’t looked up. 

“No, no, of course not. You have every right to be mad.” George’s voice cracks on the last word. 

Dream can’t take it. He looks up, and they make eye contact. It’s the first time Dream has seen George without the cover of his mask, and somehow it makes him all the more beautiful. 

“Your eyes...” George starts. “They’re gorgeous.” 

Dream’s need for human contact outweighs his hatred for George. He shuffles forward, and George reaches out to touch his face. He takes his cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb to wipe away the tears Dream didn’t know had been falling. 

“You have so many scars...” George traces his other hand’s pointer finger over them gently. 

Some of the scars hadn’t fully healed; George is extra careful touching these. He examines Dream’s face for who knows how long, Dream staring affectionately into his deep brown eyes. 

Dream leans into George’s touch, and falls into his arms, closing his eyes. He breathes in George’s scent, smiling softly when he smells grass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT LOL ION HAVE A LOT OF FREE TIME  
> next chapter gonna be in george’s pov🤔🤔


	5. Lonely

George doesn’t know how long they stand there, holding each other, softly lit by the glow of the lava, breathing in the smell of each other as if committing it to memory, as if it weren’t already. 

George suspects it must have been at least fifteen minutes, and his ribs are starting to get sore with the way Dream is squeezing him. He gently relaxes his arms from Dream’s sides and lets his hands fall to Dream’s waist, lifting his head to make eye contact with the taller. 

George is still stunned by Dream’s features, ones he had caught snuck glances at but never in full like he sees it now. His mind is cluttered with every thought of Dream he’s had for the past three months, wishing he could say them all, or none at all and simply communicate what he wants to say with his eyes. 

Sadly, he remembers Dream is _ridiculously_ oblivious, as Sapnap had mentioned on one too many occasions. 

Dream’s eyes bore into his own, seeming to widen with each intake of breath.

Suddenly conscious of his small frame, George presses against Dream again, his cheek against his chest, closing his eyes. “I really am sorry I didn’t come to see you earlier...” He whispers, voice muffled by Dream’s shirt. 

Slowly, Dream’s hands come up to his back to gently rub. “It’s okay, I understand.” 

George knows that for one, Dream does _not_ understand. In fact he’s probably got a million and one thoughts running through his head, trying to analyse every situation they’ve ever been in together and figure out what he ever did wrong, and second... 

The problem was never him. 

The problem had always been George. 

He was admittedly terrified of that sense of commitment, of the feeling of having to be loyal to a person and one person only. What if he fell out of love? What does the other person do if they’re still in love? What if what he feels isn’t even really love, but a simple, drawn-out, hormone-induced infatuation, only going on for this long because he allowed himself to feel that way? 

What if he gets rejected? 

He cant handle that kind of hurt. 

George thinks about how lonely he’s been without Dream. Every night had been sleepless, restless, as if he’d suddenly turned nocturnal. He usually had no appetite, and most of the time he found it hard to even socialise. He couldn’t keep his mind off Dream. 

He knew he made a mistake as soon as he took Tommy’s side, along with everyone else. He knows he’ll never forget the look on Dream’s face when he watched him from across Tommy’s obsidian chamber, falsely acclaimed to be Dream’s. 

The terrified stance he took, the way he had trembled. His mouth pulled into a thin white line, the _begging_. 

_ “Please... George, you don’t believe them, do you? You’re on my side, right?”  _

George did nothing but stare.

He hears it every night just before he falls asleep. 

And he’s regretted it every day since. 

He knows that’s not an excuse, that he should’ve tried harder. He knows he’s a shit friend for not coming to see him, but he honestly was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he saw Dream in here. He might’ve tried to kill somebody if he’d come a day earlier. 

Dream says nothing. He pats George’s head and rubs his back, resting his chin on top of his head. 

George is well past figuring out why the small gesture makes him so warm inside. 

“Do you think maybe you could... come more often? Just you?” Dream ventures, testing the waters. 

“...I definitely will. It’s only a small amount of time that i can stay away from your cuddles, now that i’ve gotten to see what they’re like again.” George smiles against his chest. 

Dream takes a deep breath. “Great.” He says nothing else, but George can tell that he’s content. 

He pulls away for a second time after another ten minutes. They stare at each other for a moment, before giggling softly like two hormone riddled teens sneaking out into the night. 

Seeing Dream’s eyes light up when he smiles, showing all his teeth, makes George’s heart stutter. His chest flutters, and he soon finds himself blushing, finally being able to put a face to the name he’s known for so long. He cant stop himself from saying it. 

“You’re so handsome. I don’t know how I got this lucky.” 

Dream looks taken aback. “Handsome?” He plays it off with a laugh. “If you say so, Georgie.” He finally lets go. 

They chat for a bit, and the whole time George knows that something must be wrong. Dream is always distant, requiring a little too much prompting to answer a question. Sometimes, when George mentions certain things, Dream goes stiff and rigid, sometimes dragging his eyes away from the former’s face. 

It’s not like Dream at all, and he hates that there’s nothing he can do about it. 

He _hates_ that he can’t bring back his natural charm, his wit, his snarky comments. 

He cant help but blame himself. 

— 

Shortly after George leaves, Dream somehow feels even worse than after the times Tommy comes to visit. 

After feeling George’s warmth for so long, the room seems too cold, the walls too distant and hard, in comparison to George’s beautiful, fair, soft, smooth skin. He wants to wrap his arms around George’s tiny torso again, feeling him breathe against him, make sure that his heart beats steadily. 

Make sure that he’s safe. 

His only comfort now is the all too familiar blanket of suffocating liquid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhhh tired 
> 
> also tysm for 100 kudos !!!


	6. Mind Games

Tommy’s influence never seems to fully fade, even if he doesn’t come and see Dream as regularly. 

He’s managed to convince Dream of some things, things he never did but believes it to be true. 

The rational, logical, _smart_ part of his mind says that something isn’t right with the way he thinks, with the way some of his “memories” play out. The rational, logical, smart part of his mind says that Tommy is a bad person, yet the emotional, vulnerable, _weak_ part of his mind says that he’s one of his only friends. 

If Tommy says that even _George_ trusts him, why shouldn’t Dream? 

If Tommy says that Dream blew up the community house, and manipulated Ranboo, and nearly murdered Tubbo, and exiled Tommy, and dethroned both Eret and George, why shouldn’t he believe him? 

If Tommy says that he’s Dream’s friend, what’s the point in trying to resist that?

True to his word, George comes more regularly. They chat for a while about mundane things, and sometimes Dream zones out. George always looks worried when he focuses back in, but Dream can never understand why. 

Dream’s rational thought process knows he’s acting different and weird. His emotional thinking convinces him that he’s always done stuff like this, that nothing is wrong, and that he belongs in this dark box of a prison.

—

A few weeks have passed since he beat his knuckles into the wall, and George had since bandaged them and tended to them when he comes to visit. 

They’ve mostly healed by now, but the infrequent pain still tempts him to try and break out by doing it again. 

_Logically_ , he knows he can’t get out by trying to break through the walls. 

_Rationally_ , he knows the structure and workings of the prison, how impossible it is to escape. 

Being _rational_ or _logical_ doesn’t really register with him anymore. 

Most days, he sits when Sam gives him his potatoes down by the book chest, and writes a little more in his “letter” to George (he always thinks of the word letter in quotation marks, because usually a letter is meant to eventually be given to someone. This, however, he knows he’ll never let George see.). 

He cant decipher the fluttering in his stomach when he hears George’s voice, the utter bloom in his chest when George’s smile reaches his eyes. He cant quite determine why he links peace of mind and quiet, careful love with the smell of wet grass. He doesn’t really understand why he feels so natural and comfortable around nobody else but George, despite the panic that sometimes irrationally rises when they talk about certain things, or the trembling and shaking that always returns after he leaves. 

_Scratch that_ , he thinks, scribbling out an entire paragraph. 

He does know why he feels that way, at those times. 

Dream has, unfortunately, a problem with coming to terms with his feelings, since he, like the oblivious idiot he is, thinks George is not interested in the same way. 

Dream, frowning at his page, munching on a (now cooked, due to good behaviour) potato, didn’t even hear him come in until he hears his voice. 

“Hey, Dream,” says Tommy. 

He tenses. Doesn’t look up. “Hello, Tommy.” It’s mundane. Routine. 

“I’ve got some pretty bad news.” 

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He pretends to be bored, uninterested. 

“George, he’s...” At the mention of his name, Dream’s head snaps up. “Missing.” 

“Missing?” Dream replies, barely audible. 

Tommy looks believably upset. “Yeah, missing. We’ve had people out searching for him for a while, but his house is empty. Almost like he just... vanished.” 

Dream can start to feel the panic rise in his throat. “Vanished?” His voice wavers. 

“Yeah. I’m really sorry. Hopefully we’ll find him soon.” In this moment, Dream really can’t tell whether Tommy means it or not. 

As soon as he leaves, Dream stands, and paces. His hands run through his hair, clenching and unclenching, sometimes shaking them out as if he can flick away his panic. He bites his nails, trying to figure out where George might’ve gone, what might’ve happened to him. 

All rational thought leaves his mind as soon as his brain plays the sound of George screaming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i simply do not know how to makes chapters longer 


	7. Mind Games, Pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey lol 😳😳 sorry i disappeared for like a week or something 🤪🤪 anyways listen to chopin’s nocturne op. 9 no. 2 while u read this it’s very cool <3

_Chopin’s_ Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 _flooded throughout the halls of the castle, its tune fitting for the setting._

_ Dream snuck around the corner to watch George, sat at the grand white piano. He watched as George’s hands flicked over the keys, dancing a dance he would be too embarrassed to show if he knew Dream was near. He’d always loved watching George play, always loved the way he looked most relaxed and at peace with himself when he did.  _

_Once more, as of every time he secretly watched George, he felt a pang of jealousy at the inanimate object. The piano was the one making George look so at peace, one of the most adorably concentrated looks spread across his face, and not Dream._

_ He only wished he had the courage to tell George of his feelings, even if it could never work. George was a king; Dream, his humble servant.  _

_The song reaches a particularly intense part and Dream smiles, a smile full of affection and adoration, when George plays it perfectly, lifting his hands from the keys with such drama and flare that Dream wants to kiss each of_ _his fingers in turn, fingers that can play so beautifully, fingers that belong to a beautiful man._

_ Suddenly George is aware of the presence at the doorway and stumbles, but quickly regains his flow. A blush forms on his face, as his eyes occasionally glance up to Dream’s.  _

_Dream smirks. He hadn’t been careful to not be spotted this time on purpose. He’d wanted George to see him, to see if he would still play. Cautiously, he takes a few steps in to the large room and sits on chair a few paces from that damn piano, with his legs crossed, his elbow on his knee, chin in hand._

_ George still plays, pretending to take no notice of Dream. Dream knows him too well, already noting how George shifts on his seat.  _

_They stay like that for a moment. The music has a way, if George is the one playing, of reaching right into his heart, wrapping itself around it with its flowery tone and squeezing until his chest feels so tight with adoration that his thoughts are filled with nothing but the_ _man in front of him._

_ George finishes the piece with a flourish. He leans back, shaking out his hands, and finally makes proper eye contact (or, as proper as eye contact can get when one wears a mask over his eyes) with Dream.  _

_ “I’ve already said I don’t like it when you watch me play.” It’s a curt greeting.  _

_Dream fights back the urge to laugh. “I can’t help it, you’re just too good. Mesmerising, you could say.” He smiles, then leans back. “Hey, I didn’t kill anyone today.”_

_ “What do you want? A gold medal?” He knows George is trying not to smile.  _

_ “You’d get a gold medal? Just for me?”  _

_ “Only if you asked.”  _

_ This kind of flirtatious behaviour was normal between them. It’d never made either of them uncomfortable, never made them dislike each other to any extent. It was comforting, almost like second nature. “Maybe you could teach me how to play like that.”  _

_ “I can’t tell if I want to kiss you or throw you off a cliff.”  _

_ It was a small slip up. George said it before he could take back his words and bite his tongue, and the redness that was rapidly spreading on his face showed it.  _

_Dream refused to acknowledge it, seeing it as a simple mistake, as taking a flirtatious remark a smidgen too far, even if he could tease George with it and_ _lord it over him forever. “Maybe both?” He instead chooses to laugh it off._

_ The silence between them grew, but never grew uncomfortable. Dream stood, with his hands clasped behind his back and patiently waited for George to do the same. He payed no mind to the way George stared at him, took no note of the way his eyes flickered away when Dream tilted his head toward him expectantly.  _

_He certainly didn’t lock away in his memory the way George wet his lips as he stood, the way he wraps a_ _hand around Dream’s extended arm, the way he subtly leans closer to him as they walk. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, because doing so would admit he actually really does believe that George could love him in the same way Dream loves him. And admitting that could either change everything, or change nothing._

_ He couldn’t decide which was worse.  _

Dream wakes in a panic, a cold sweat shrouding his entire body .  His eyes flicker around his glowing prison, but he finds no George, no white piano, and hears no classical music filtering through the silence of empty halls to his ears. 

He remembers what Tommy told him yesterday, and buries his head in his hands, letting his fingers thread into his hair and tug. 

George truly is the only thing he has left, and if he really is missing, Dream almost goes insane at the thought of not being able to look for him himself. 

He hates himself for what he’s done, even if he can’t remember what it was exactly that put him in this situation. 

Lava and pointlessly beating the shit out of obsidian looks almost too inviting from this point forward. 


	8. A Favour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst 😕 whaz popping 😕

Dream wakes with a start, his head bouncing up from lolling to the side. George’s panicked voice was what woke him, his small hands shaking Dream’s shoulders fervently. 

“George?” Dream thinks he must be dreaming again. “...You’re not really here, are you.” 

He decides he doesn’t like the confused, panicked look on George’s face. “What? Of course I’m here, you idiot!” 

Now that Dream is fully awake, he notices the cuts and bruises that litter George’s body, his unkempt hair unusually messy and sweat sticking his clothes to his skin. “George, what the hell is happening?” He sits up more, holding on to George’s forearms as if if he doesn’t touch him he might disappear. “Tommy told me-“

“It doesn’t matter what Tommy told you! He’s insane!” His voice picks up in both pitch and haste, trying to shake Dream out of whatever haze he’s in. 

“Insane?” Dream scoffs. “He’s my friend, George. One of my closest.” Dream cant believe the words leaving his mouth. 

The logical side of him knows that Tommy is not, in any way, his friend. His emotional, vulnerable side, the side of him thats exposed like a raw nerve, easily accessible to anyone’s poking and prodding if they knew where to push, convinces him that Tommy only wants the best for him. 

George has never looked more confused, more upset, more angry. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Don’t you know why you’re in here in the first place?” 

Dream tries to think, but a strange haziness clouds his mind. He stares at the brunette blankly, trying to make sense of why he’s even here when Tommy,  _ his friend_, said he’d gone missing. 

“Shouldn’t you be missing?” Dream questions, standing up fully and holding George at arms length. 

“Missing?” George squints. “Dream, they’re trying to kill me. I’ve been running and hiding from them for days. Tommy’s lying to you, Dream.” 

_ Who’s them? _

Dream doesn’t know who to believe. In his heart, he knows George is telling the truth. In his mind, Tommy’s voice speaks clearly. 

“They can’t be trying to kill you, George. Tommy said he’s been trying to find you-“ 

“To kill me!” George yells. “I can’t even stay here for long. They’ll know I’d have come to see you!” 

George is grabbing at his shirt now, clinging, desperate. Tears prick at the corner of his red eyes. 

Dream doesn’t know what to think. “Where will you go?” 

“I... I don’t know. I can’t even trust Sapnap.” 

Dream narrows his eyes, staring at George with suspicion. Tommy’s the one who’s been visiting him, time and time again. George only started seeing him  months after he was thrown in jail, with a poor excuse at that. 

“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that? Holding me at arms length?” His voice wavers, his chin trembling, the tears threatening to spill down his pink cheeks. 

Dream’s resolve crumbles, the stupid mental war dropping. His eyes soften, swears under his breath, and pulls George into a hug. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just... I didnt- I don’t know-“ George shushes him. 

“Hey, it’s okay, yeah? I understand.” He smoothes small circles into his back, before pulling away, wiping at his nose. “But I really have to leave, and I don’t know where to go.” The panic in his voice rises again. 

Suddenly, Dream realises something. The cuts and bruises shouldn’t be on George’s perfect figure. “George... have they caught you already? How many lives are you on?” 

The tears spring to his eyes again. He unwraps a bandage around his left forearm with trembling hands, and Dream’s head spins when he sees two small, black Xs etched into the soft skin of his wrist. 

He cant tear his eyes away from the death sentence.

_ One life left.  _

He had to get him out of here, away from him. Safe. 

Dream forces his eyes back to George’s, grabbing both sides of his face. “Listen to me, George. I built a house, way away from all of this. Past Techno’s house, even further. Take the main portal, and be very careful. They might suspect you’d go through there to try and get away, so wait until you’re _sure_ no one’s in there. Take the portal to Techno’s then about 500 blocks past there is where the house should be. They won’t find you there, I promise.” He thumbs away a single tear. “I’ll get out of here and meet you there. I _promise_.” 

Two promises. 

George nods hurriedly, biting his lip, gripping Dream’s hands as if he’d never hold them again. 

He really, _really_ hoped that wasn’t the case. 

George stepped out of reach, signalling to Sam, who apparently was still on Dream’s side. 

Then he was gone. 

Dream sunk back down against the wall, his head in his trembling hands. 

He stayed like that for either five minutes or four hours, until he heard the lava dropping for a second time that day. Confused, he stood, walking close to the molten wall. 

A golden circlet sat upon tufts of long, pink hair, half of it tied into a bun on the crown of the figure’s head, the rest falling around their slim shoulders. Two tusks sat on the bottom jaw of a smirking mouth, almost like a pig’s. Large, pink, almond shaped eyes watched Dream’s shocked face as the lava completely disappeared. 

“Heya, Dream.” Technoblade’s gravelly voice rumbled of the walls off his obsidian prison. “Little bird told me I owe you a favour.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE I JUST REALISED THAT I LEFT THE “NOW THAT INTERSTATE IS PAVED WITH MEMORIES” PART IN I THOUGHT I DELETED THAT


	9. Goodbye Pandora

“Heya, Dream. Little bird told me I owe you a favour.” 

Truth be told, Dream forgets who Technoblade is for a solid minute, until he steps off the moving bridge, stalks toward him slowly, and smirks before slapping him across the face. Hard. 

It takes Dream a second, his head snapped to the side, blinking, to come to his senses. When he does, he suddenly remembers that it’s his (friend? enemy?) partner in crime that stands in front of him. 

He should’ve known, honestly, solely by the way Techno carries himself with such grandeur, by the way he _radiates_ royalty like a visible aura. 

Techno smiles again, a toothy grin showing off his small tusks. “Apologies for not coming sooner, hope there’s no hard feelings.” 

“No, not at all... I wouldn’t have come for me either.” Dream becomes overwhelmingly interested with the floor at Techno’s feet. He feels the strange urge to bow. 

“George contacted me a few days ago, asking to meet up here. Truth be told I honestly didn’t know you’d be in here for this long. News don’t really reach my ears.” He reaches up a slender hand and scratches a pig-like ear, a large gold hoop swaying with the movement. “He explained everything to me just before he left.” 

Dream’s eyes widened as he remembers George’s situation. “I told him to go to my house. The house I built. It’s just further than your place, but I told him to go through the Nether and in his state I don’t know if he’ll make it, and he’s on one life and I need him, I can’t lose him, I have to get out of here—“ 

Techno slaps him again, this time on the other cheek. “Can you stop worryin’ for a minute? I told him about a shortcut I made a while ago. He’ll be fine. For now, we have to worry about getting you out of here and away from Tommy.” 

Unnamed voices tell Dream that Techno wants to do nothing but harm him, that he’s too scandalous and without honour that he’d never hold up his end of a deal. He searches Techno’s bright pink eyes, searching for the lie, but never finding one. 

He sighs. “How do I know you’re not leading me into a trap or something?” 

“Dream, seriously? I don’t have any weapons with me. Sam’s on our side. Tommy’s unsuspectin’ and we’ve got our chance. Do you trust me?”

“I’ve got no reason to trust you, looking at our past.” 

“Is the past really what you think it is? Or just what Tommy’s made you believe?” He narrows his eyes, and Dream cowers slightly, thinking he’ll slap him again. 

“Look, I don’t know what to believe. And at this point, I couldn’t care less if I was being led into a trap. Nothing’s getting between me and George, even if I have to punch my way through these goddamn walls or swim across that fucking lava lake,” Dream says, the last part snarled through gritted teeth, his bandaged hands serving as a reminder and shaking in fists at his sides. 

Techno’s eyes turn from hard to sympathetic. If he liked touching people, he might’ve even patted Dream on the shoulder. “Hey, I get it. But one step at a time, yeah? We’ve gotta get you some new clothes, tools, and... maybe a shower.” His features crinkle as he wrinkles his snouty nose. 

Dream allows him a short, curt laugh. It’s so unfamiliar—so unnatural—that he may as well not done it at all. Techno smiles again, softer this time, before calling out to Sam that they were ready. 

They step on to the moving bridge, and Dream takes one last look at his cell, the only home he’d ever known for months. 

_ Well, that is, until George came.  _

When they step off, lava cascades back down into the lake, blocking the prison from view. Dream nearly sighs with relief, and lets his whole body relax. 

Seeing three different people in one day was so foreign to Dream now, after being in isolation for so long. 

Sam nods, motioning for the two to follow him. They fall into step behind him, walking briskly through the winding halls of Pandora’s Vault. The very prison Dream payed Sam to build, holding him hostage for almost a year. 

It feels strange, doing this much walking. The prison seems to last forever, sets of stairs and multiple locked doors to pass through. He remembers the passageways vaguely, from when he was dragged in here, kicking and screaming, spit flying, muscles taught and eyes bloodshot. 

He remembers George’s face as the entrance to the prison, the portal, separated them. 

He’s mostly blocked it out. 

Finally they reach the storage room. Technoblade grabs his things, hefting his axe onto a utility belt around his torso, sliding knives and daggers into _who- knows- where_. He turns to Dream and chucks him a small diamond knife, about a foot in length, with gemstones encrusted as a pattern into the hilt. Dream nods, silently thanking him for the weapon.

A final goodbye and thanks to Sam, and Dream is greeted by the outside world. 

It’s nighttime, late in the evening, Dream predicts, searching for the moon. It’s been so long since he’s seen any form of natural light, and he lets the silvery glow cascade over him like a shining fountain. 

He takes a deep breath, greeting the fresh cool air. The cool breeze blowing and the sound of leaves on trees rustling is such a contrast to the heat of the cell, and he allows himself this one moment of contentment. 

Thankfully, Techno understands, but he’s in a hurry to get a move on. He prods at Dream’s rib, motioning for him to follow. “Come on, nature boy. We’ve gotta go.” 

Techno pulls a dinghy from around the corner, hopping in and throwing an oar to Dream. He catches it, surprised at his unused reflexes, and steps into the boat behind Techno. 

They paddle to shore, Techno searching around quietly before pulling the boat between two trees, covering it with a blanket of leaves. He stands behind a tree, motioning for Dream to do the same. He holds a clawed finger to his lips, glancing around the trunk, and waves for Dream to follow, sneaking through the darkness of the forest. 

An owl hoots overheard. A stream gurgles beside them. The leaves scrape against each other gently, insects creaking, night birds tweeting, creating a cacophony of nature that Dream has almost completely forgotten. 

The pair reach Techno’s shortcut after maybe an hour of stealthily moving through the dark. It’s not a very fancy shortcut, just a dirt tunnel going underground, but it does the job well of staying secluded and hidden. 

Suddenly the reality of it all hits Dream. He’s out of his cell. He’s looking at dirt and grass and flowers and trees and stars, not obsidian walls. The light comes from the moon, not from a waterfall of lava. There’s sound everywhere, no silence. 

He’s free. And George is so close to him, yet still so out of reach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an english assignment soon 😩


	10. By a Thread

The dirt tunnel is dark, flickering light from Techno’s torch flashing shadows on the damp soil. 

Dream figured they’d be close to the other side. The pair had been walking for just under an hour, the blond occasionally putting his hand against Techno’s shoulder or dragging his fingertips along the dirt, like he had to make sure that this was real, that he wasn’t dreaming, that he was actually here. 

He touched his face gently. The mask was gone now, as he’d decided from George’s first visit to completely forgo it. He’d almost forgotten what he looked like; he hadn’t seen a mirror in years. 

A cold draft blew through the tunnel, making Dream shiver. He pulled up the fabric of his black turtleneck around his throat, shoving on his bright green hood. 

Techno noticed the excessive movement. “‘M sorry the walk is so long,” he steps over a stone. “It goes almost directly to my house.” 

“It’s fine. I feel like I have a lot of walking to catch up on.” Dream coughs into his hand. 

Techno merits the comment with a short laugh, though it’s more of a scoff. 

They settle into silence once more. The smell of wet dirt is so close to the smell of grass that Dream can imagine that George is with them. He knows he shouldn’t worry, that he’s wasting energy if he does, but he can’t help himself. All he can see when he thinks George is his trembling hands gripping his prison jumpsuit, the imposing two Xs deciding his fate, his red, puffy eyes, the desperation so evident in his body language. 

Dream’s vision goes cloudy and he stumbles into Technoblade’s back. Pink hair swishes as he whips around to glare at Dream, but his gaze softens as he notices the look on his face. 

“Hey. Look,” Techno says, patting Dream’s cheek and stepping to the side. “Almost there. See?” 

Dream’s eyes come back into focus, and he glances up from the ground. The rising sun shines through the end of the tunnel, only about a kilometre away. The prospect of being so close to George makes him all the more determined, and Techno smiles as he picks up his pace. 

Walking, walking, more walking. 

They’re so close now, adrenaline rushing through Dream so much it makes him want to run. Sprint, even. 

The entrance is a just a few metres away now, so Dream gives in and starts running. The sun is a little higher now, the golden beams throwing warm light on his face. 

Finally, he makes it out, almost tripping on his way. Dream stands up straight, letting the sun warm his skin, taking a deep breath. His boots crunch in the snow, a small bird tweeting above his head. The sky is a bright blue, a clear day, crisp and inviting. 

Techno steps out after him, patting him on the back after glancing around. “C’mon. Hope you don’t mind a little more walking.” 

—

Technoblade’s house comes into sight at the bottom of a small hill, nestled into a clearing. 

“We’ll stop here for a while. You look like you haven’t slept for six months.” Techno steps inside, tapping his boots against the doorway. 

The joke goes over Dream’s head. “What?” He follows him inside, stopping to shake his boots when Techno glares at him to do the same. “I have to see George _now_. I can’t wait another night.”

“If you wanna live, you’ll listen to me.” He starts taking off his weapons, shrugging off his cloak. 

Dream snarls at his back. He turns to leave. 

“Don’t.” 

Techno isn’t even looking at him. 

“Just go to sleep. I promise I’ll wake you in a few hours.” 

Dream is fuming, but he knows he’s being unreasonable. He pulls of his hoodie, grumbling all the while, shoving it into Techno’s arms and yanks down the sleeves of his undershirt, aggressively climbing into the bed his host shows him to and throws the blanket over his head. 

“Brat,” Techno mutters, softly closing the door. 

He’s out in a matter of minutes. 

— 

Dream wakes three hours later, as promised. Techno gently pushes at his shoulder, waking him quietly. He blinks. Remembers where he is. His eyes widen, remembering he’s going to see George. 

_ Is he safe?  _

He practically jumps out of the bed, pulling on his clothes and boots, and nearly hits his head on the doorframe on the way out. 

“Slow down,” Techno smirks, holding out a bowl of soup. “Eat first, and then we can go.” 

Dream gulps it down within seconds. 

“God, you’re like a five year old on Christmas morning. Slow down,” he says again. 

His whole body is tense, a wound up spring, the image of George making his sanity hang by a thread. 

Finally, they gear up and leave, snow crunching under their feet. It’s a much shorter walk than the night before, which Dream is thankful for, wincing as he stretches his leg muscles.

_ One more hill. _

Dream remembers the path they step on now, his excitement nearly tangible. 

He’s so close now.

_ One more step. _

So close.

_ George. George. George.  _

He makes it over the small mountain, and nearly blacks out at the sight of his humble home surrounded by the people turned against him. 

Wilbur, Quackity, Tubbo, Niki, Fundy, and Karl all stand around, on the offensive.  In the midst of it all, Tommy. 

No, not the offensive. They’re all standing guard, as if keeping something inside. 

George. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just two idiots who don’t know how to express any emotion other than anger out for a walk 😕


	11. Two Promises

Quick as lightning, Dream whipped around to Technoblade, pulling the diamond knife from his thigh garter, pressing it against his throat. 

Fury was the only thing evident in his eyes. No fear, no sympathy, just rage. 

“You led them here, didn’t you?” He snarled, pressing harder. 

Techno clutched at his shoulders, trying to push him away. “No, you insane—“ The pressure on his neck increases. “No, I didn’t,” he swallows, the knife drawing blood as his adam’s apple bobbed against its blade. “I swear to you, I don’t know why they’re here. I didn’t even know where your house was, that’s why I let you lead the way.” His voice remains even. 

Dream tries once more to find the lie, but gives up, choosing to focus on George instead. “I meant what I said about being led into a trap.” He pushes Techno away, standing straight. “I don’t care what’s between me and George.” 

Looking over the hill again, making sure to crouch down, Dream surveys the situation. Tommy was speaking with Tubbo, Wilbur and Quackity talking mundanely. Niki and Fundy stood together, just in front of his front door. Karl seemed to be keeping watch. 

The blonde trembled from his spot on the snowy hill. The sun was dropping now, dipping against the horizon. He couldn’t make any sort of move right now, even if he and Techno combined could take them all out. He didn’t want to hurt anybody. Didn’t want to prove to everyone that Tommy was right. 

They’d have to wait until night. Dream turned back to the half-pigman, studying him once more. Trusting him would be easier than choosing to have him has an enemy. 

“We can’t do anything right now, obviously.” Cracking his knuckles, Dream watched as Karl walked to the other side of the house, out of sight. 

Techno grunted. “That’s what I was thinking. We should wait until night, then hopefully we can slip under Karl’s nose.” 

“Right, and after that, how are we supposed to get past Niki and Fundy?” 

He thought for a moment for replying. “A distraction,” a grin. 

“Oh yeah? And there’s only two of us. What exactly did you have in mind?” 

“An old friend of yours might be willing to burn down a forest if requested.” 

—

Two hours later, under the cover of darkness and trees that had been set alight, Techno and Dream slipped down the hill after Karl had rounded the house for the millionth time. They slid around against a windowless wall, pressing themselves against it. 

From around the corner, Wilbur had lit a torch, the soft light flickering and inviting. Their conversation carried through the darkness. 

Dream worried at a nail, wondering again how the hell they had managed to find his house, so secluded and out of sight. He slapped his cheek, dragging a palm down his freckled face, keeping his head clear. 

It’d been five minutes or so now, which meant Karl would be heading back around. They snuck further around to the back of the house, where there was a window just at head height. 

Techno pushed at it gently, sliding it upwards as Dream kept watch. The pair climbed inside as soon as he’d pushed it up enough, slipping through with minimal noise and closing it again. Dream just hoped Karl didn’t notice their footprints. 

Dream led the way through the main corridor of his home, softly calling George’s name. He reached his bedroom door, opening it with a soft click, and pulled himself up short immediately. 

“Shh,” Tommy held a finger up to his lips. “You’ll wake your sleeping beauty.” 

George snored softly on Dream’s bed. _Asleep, of course._

Tommy sat on the end of the bed, watching him with an unreadable expression, holding his axe loosely. Dream’s jukebox played softly, the noise of one of Tommy’s discs, Mellohi, filling the room. 

“You’re not as smart as you think you are, Dream. As soon as Sapnap showed up, as your distraction, I assumed, I knew something was up.” He stood, holding his axe like a walking stick. “Kind of dumb of you to tell George to go to the one place I knew you’d tell him to stay.” 

Dream gripped his knife tightly, taking one step further. 

Tommy gripped the handle of his weapon with one hand, pointing the blade directly at Dream. “And that’ll be all the steps you take, big man. Stay right there, or, y’know...” He trails off, maintaining eye contact as he holds the blade of his axe over George’s pale neck. 

Glancing behind him, Dream notices Techno is no longer with him. He swears under his breath, annoyed. Tommy smirks. 

“So, what. You thought you could just waltz in here? Take your precious little Gogy back without any sort of challenge?” He scoffs. “I mean, I knew you’d escape that shitty prison one day, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. In fact I’m sure you wouldn’t have if George didn’t make the stupid decision of coming to see you.” 

Dream feels like crying. “What the hell do you want from me? You’ve already _got_ everything you wanted. You have control over the server.” 

“Control?” Tommy steps forward, bringing his axe off George’s neck as he did so. “ _Control?_ That’s what you think I want?” 

“That’s what you told me you wanted.” 

Tommy smiles, incredulous. “No, I wanted control over you. Not this fucking server. I don’t care about the server.” 

Glancing back to George, Dream notices that he’s now awake, wide, frightened eyes trained on him. “...You can have control over me, if you let him go free.” 

Watching Tommy’s face, he realises that he doesn’t know George has woken up. “No, no, see... Having George captive is what gives me control over you.” 

Dream looks back to George again, trying to communicate with his eyes what he wants him to do. “I promise I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll let you convince everyone that I’m the villain,” he looks back meaningfully between Tommy and George’s gaze. 

Through whatever connection the two seem to share, the captive boy finally seems to understand, sitting up as slow as he can, the moody music smothering most of the noise he makes. 

“Everyone _already_ thinks you’re the bad guy, dickhead.” Tommy stops for a beat, noticing Dream’s quick changes in eye contact. “You can’t even keep your eyes off this useless shit for two seconds, can you?” 

Dream smiles, standing up straight. “That’s right. Maybe you should look at him more often.” 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Tommy turns around to take Dream’s advice, but gets punched squarely in the face by a very awake George. He stumbles backward, stunned, dropping his axe and holding his nose, until Dream manages to yank him closer and press the blade to his neck. 

Dream leans down to his ear. “Might wanna keep quiet, if I were you. It seems you’ve woken the sleeping beauty.” 

He drags him down the hallway, keeping the knife firmly pressed against him as a warning. As soon as they reach the front door, Dream opens it and chucks him down the small flight of stairs, stepping out after him. A huge amount of rage fills him, turning his vision red, blood pumping in his ears, his body hot and shaking. 

Sapnap and Punz are suddenly pulling him away, shaking the knife out of his hands and forcing him to look at him instead of the teen on the ground. 

“Hey, man, it’s okay, yeah?” Sapnap reassures. “I’m so sorry about all of this.” 

Wilbur, Niki, Fundy and Quackity stood to the side, watching Tommy cough as he knelt on all fours in the snow, clearly never have being on his side in the first place. Dream watched as Tubbo walked sullenly away from the scene, and from someone he thought to be his friend. 

George peeked out from the front door, looking around for Dream and soon finding him, letting Sapnap hug him. Their eyes meet, and Dream pushes his friend off him, running toward him, stumbling at least three times before he stops right in front of him. 

They embrace as soon as George lets tears spill from his tired eyes. Dream sobs into his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. The blond feels suffocated, but in the best possible way, content from George’s warmth, the coolness of his hands, the smell of damp grass filling his head.

“You kept your promises,” George sniffles, pulling him ever closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally drawing to a close,, might finish in the next two or so chapters 🙏🏼🙏🏼


	12. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: SMUT

Wilbur and Niki wouldn’t stop apologising. 

Dream had already said multiple times that he’d forgiven them, that they didn’t need to worry, but the apologies just wouldn’t stop coming. 

Finally, Techno shuts them up with a sharp glare. 

The group sat around a small fire just outside of Dream’s house, warming themselves in the cool night. George refused to leave Dream’s side from the moment they’d been with each other again. Dream was definitely not complaining. 

Fundy had left a while ago, claiming there was somewhere he needed to be. Sapnap had managed to put out most of the forest fire before it spread too far earlier and sat on the other side of Dream. 

“Again, ‘m sorry I couldn’t help you with Tommy. Wilbur here decided it would be a good idea to sneak up on me and drag me out here,” Techno explains. “Lucky I explained to them what’s really going on.” 

_Ah_ , Dream thinks. _That explains Wilbur’s broken nose._

Wilbur winces and Niki asks if he’s okay for the millionth time. “I’m sorry, Techno, but I was just doing what I thought was right.”

“Always doing what you think’s right, huh?” Techno replied. “I guess that’s why you blew up a country.” 

Niki shushes him and drags Wilbur away, concerned for her friend. 

To his left, Quackity and Karl chatted away like nothing at all had happened. Sapnap had an arm around Karl’s shoulder, looking calm as Dream had ever seen him. 

A short while later, after everything had been explained (and thoroughly apologised for), the group apart from Dream and George took Tommy away, either to be exiled again or thrown in prison. Dream didn’t want to know. 

He wanted to stay far away from everything that had happened over the past year, and spend his time doing what he really wanted. 

‘What he really wanted’ being George. 

He watched as they finally vanished over the hill, and allowed himself to relax for the first time in months. He was exhausted, and the tiredness from everything had finally caught up to him. 

He sighed, wrapping his arms around George’s waist, turning to face him, smiling down at him softly. 

George reciprocated the gesture. “Can I... stay here tonight? With you?” 

Dream’s heart raced. He desperately hoped George couldn’t feel it beating through his shirt. “Of course. You can stay as long as you want.” 

“Alright. Cool. Thanks.” It was an awkward sentence, as if he were trying to fill the silence with more words. 

They stepped inside after a moment, and Dream let him have a shower first. Then tried not to stare at his damp hair and shirtless figure after he was done and came back into his room. 

As he let hot water dribble down his back, Dream thought about how surreal all this was. He had everything he had wanted for months, sitting on his very bed, in the next room over. He was out of jail. Free to do whatever he wanted, and eat something other than potatoes and talk to people other than Sam or Tommy. 

He stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying himself off, pulling on his clean clothes. When he walked back into his room, George was standing over his jukebox, sliding the Mall disc in. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he whispers lowly. 

“Not at all,” Dream replies in the same tone. 

The mood in the room has changed dramatically, the pair staring at each other from across the room, George standing with a towel around his waist and one of Dream’s shirts, Dream wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. 

George laughs suddenly, quiet and amused. “Grey sweatpants?” He raises an eyebrow. 

It’s an echo of how things used to be. 

Dream would do anything to make time go back. 

“A towel?” Dream retorts, smirking, walking cautiously forward. 

George can do nothing to stop the blush that rises on his face, so he rolls his eyes instead, crossing his arms. When he notices how slow Dream is walking, he sighs in frustration. “Come closer. I don’t bite.” 

Dream takes the invitation, crossing the rest of the distance in two long strides, caging George against the jukebox with his arms on either side of his small frame. “You don’t? What a shame.” 

Their faces are inches apart. George’s blush has spread to his ears, down his neck. Dream wonders if the pretty pink bloom reaches all the way to his chest. 

George’s breath hitches at the sight of Dream’s eyes raking down his body. He reaches a hand up, threading it into Dream’s hair, pulling his head up. 

“My eyes are up here, big boy.” 

Dream tames his grin by biting his lip. He stares down at George through lidded eyes. He knows what they both want. He’ll give it to George at the drop of a hat. “Just say that you want it.” 

“Want what?” George looks up innocently through his lashes. 

The blonde lets out a frustrated groan, or more of a growl. “Say it.”

“Why?” He knows what he’s doing. 

“Because there’s nothing sexier than _consent_ , Georgie.” Dream’s voice is barely above a whisper, their faces moving toward each other subconsciously, their lips barely apart. 

George relents, dropping his hand, letting it rest on Dream’s shoulder, curling his free hand around Dream’s neck. “Alright then,” he breathes, his eyes fluttering. He leans in close to Dream’s ear. “I want it.” 

The sentence sends a suppressed shiver down Dream’s spine, and he takes the opportunity to grab George’s face and kiss him. 

A sharp inhale, eyes slipping closed, lips moving against one another. 

Dream pours all of his affection, all his unrequited love, all of his apologies into that one soft kiss. He hopes George would get the message. 

From his point of view, George feels like he could melt into Dream’s touch, the gentleness of his lips so undeniably sweet it makes his teeth hurt. 

That kind of gentleness didn’t last long. 

It didn’t take long for them to become more desperate, both of their oblivious pining finally surfacing. George’s hands slid back into Dream’s hair, tugging softly. Dream moves his hands under the brunette’s thighs, picking him up with little effort and sitting him on top of the jukebox, pushing himself closer between George’s legs. 

Eventually they broke away for air, their eyes lidded, staring into each other’s eyes like they were drowning, being smothered with such love and affection and adoration that they wouldn’t find anywhere else in the world except with each other. 

“I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you,” Dream says, breathing heavily. His heart pounds in his chest at the thought of what he’s about to say. “I like you a lot, George.” 

George presses his lips into a thin line, trying to suppress a smile. “I sure hope so. Because, well, I _suppose_ I like you a lot too,” he breathes. 

Dream grins, his smile widening with every moment. “You’re such an idiot,” he laughs, pressing his forehead to George’s, his hands dropping to his waist. 

“An idiot in love.” George presses his lips back to Dream’s, taking him by surprise. 

It only takes a few minutes for the kiss to get heated again, and finally, as they’d both been waiting for it, Dream musters up the courage to tilt his head and deepen the kiss, gently licking George’s bottom lip for permission. He parts his mouth and lets the blonde slip his tongue against his, the small fight for dominance over in a matter of seconds. 

Dream gets carried away with trying to memorise every curve, every tooth, every taste of George’s mouth, and subconsciously presses his hips forward. They both groan, and George tries to gain more friction, wrapping his legs around Dream’s waist and pulling him impossibly closer. 

The brunette groans into his mouth as Dream begins to grind slowly, the towel and sweatpants between them becoming far too much of an obstacle, stopping them from being as close as they could be. 

George drops his hands to the waistband of the other’s pants, tugging at them lightly, hoping Dream got the point. He smiles in victory when Dream steps back a little to let the pants slip past his hips and onto the floor, kicking them away. George tries not to stare at how _big_ he actually is, licking his lips. 

A snicker. Dream slots himself back between his legs, and kisses him again, his hands pulling the towel off him in a matter of seconds. He can’t stop himself from pressing forward. George moans deeply into his mouth at the bare contact, his legs wrapping back around his ‘friend’s’ waist. 

Dream drops one of his hands between them, grabbing them both and jerking them both off gently. George bucks against his hand, silently begging for more, moaning increasingly louder. 

They break away from another kiss, panting into each other’s mouths, locked in an intense stare. Dream only stops the movement of his hand when he knows George is close, pulling away. George whines at the loss of contact, bucking his hips into nothing. The blonde lifts him up from the jukebox, his legs already wrapped around him, and drops him on his bed gently. He leans above him on all fours and looks down at him with such appreciation and admiration that George almost forgets the situation and wants to melt under his gaze. 

They soon remember their complications and start up another kiss, quickly turning into a make out when George spreads his knees to make room for Dream. He pulls his shirt up and over his head, throwing it over Dream’s head, pulling him back down and meeting his lips with his own. 

Dream decides it’s about time to advance this little escapade, and reaches over to his bedside table, searching through his drawer for a small tube of lube he kept. As he shuffles through the miscellaneous items, he feels George grow desperate and needy underneath him, leaning up to kiss at his neck. Dream hums appreciatively and his hand finally closes around the cool container. 

He pops open the cap and watches George’s eyes widen with excitement as he pours a decent amount over his fingers. He stops for a moment to check that this okay, that they’re still on the same page. George nods his head quickly, but Dream is a little shit and he knows it. “Use your words, please, sweetheart.” 

George groans in frustration. “Yes, god, I want it, you dumb prick.” 

He decides that’s good enough, and presses his fingertip against George’s entrance, slipping inside, his breath hitching at the minimal resistance. “Is this why you took so long in the shower?” 

George doesn’t meet his gaze. 

“Did you know this would happen?” Dream laughs. 

“I might’ve had some _forethought_ , yes—“ He cries out when Dream adds another finger, pumping his hand slowly. He props himself up on his elbows. “I thought it might— might be easier—“ His eyes squeeze shut, and his head lolls back. 

Dream hums softly, and he kisses at his neck, biting down at the junction between his shoulder and throat gently. George’s hand flies up to the back of Dream’s head, holding him there, mewling his name lewdly. 

Dream thinks he’s never heard such a beautiful noise in all his life. 

When he’s prepped enough, Dream pulls his hand away, and kisses the brunette before he has a chance to give a bratty whine. He pours more lube into his hand and spreads it over his dick, giving himself a few small strokes before he positions himself. “Is this still okay?” He asks, kissing George’s cheek. 

“Are you serious?” George asks incredulously. 

The blonde laughs. “Yes, very.” 

Although it’s annoying, George appreciates and finds it incredibly endearing the way Dream checks up on him, making sure he’s still okay with what’s happening, almost as if he— 

“Yes, it’s okay. Please hurry the fuck up.” 

Almost as if he—

Dream presses in as slow as he can manage, biting his lip and resting his forehead on George’s shoulder. He doesn’t think anything has ever felt this good, the pleasure washing over him like a waterfall. 

The only thought George has running through his mind is how much he loves Dream. Everything they’ve experienced together, everything they’d done, said, and shared with each other, how gentle he is, avoiding pressing on any of his bruises, all tied together with a neat little bow in this perfect moment. 

Finally, after what seems like a century, Dream bottoms out, pressing lazy kisses against the side of George’s neck, allowing him time to adjust. George presses his heels into Dream’s lower back, signalling that he can move. 

When he does, it’s only short, little thrusts, the feeling of it all making George see stars. 

Dream can’t resist moving so slowly anymore, and picks up his pace, pulling out almost completely and slamming back inside, George’s moans like music to his ears. 

“M-more,” George stutters out, breathing hard. 

“More what?” Dream asks, even though he knows. 

“Harder,” George whines, too far into sub-space to even think about retorting. “Please.” 

When he asks so nicely, how can Dream resist? He complies, his pace growing faster when George cries out and grabs the pillow next to his head. He realises he must be hitting his prostate when George won’t stop moaning, pressing his hips down to meet Dream’s thrusts. 

Nonsensical babble falls from his mouth as they get closer to the edge. “Oh, _god_ , Dream,” he groans halfway through his sentence. “Right there.” 

Dream groans quietly in response, grabbing George’s wrist and pinning it above his head when he went to reach down to touch himself. 

A few more minutes and they’d both driven themselves crazy. Dream finally lets go of his wrist, grabbing his hips instead, pounding impossibly harder, until he feels the warm coil in the bottom of his stomach begin to unravel. 

He reaches down to jerk George off, in time with his thrusts, enjoying the way he cries out with each stroke. 

They reach their climaxes within a minute, the feeling of everything overwhelmingly amazing and the pair share the knowledge that they never want this moment to end. Dream feels so incredibly happy, thinking about how George trusts him enough to let him do this, to entrust his body to Dream’s care so utterly and completely. 

George cums first, painting his torso with white with a near scream, and Dream only a few moments after, hips stuttering. 

He rests his forehead against the brunette’s, taking deep breaths, coming down from his high, trying to process the situation. He pulls out when George squirms uncomfortably, overstimulated, flopping down beside him. 

“That was...” Dream starts, but realises he can’t quite find the words. 

“Incredible? Amazing? Spectacular? Everything I’ve ever wanted from my best friend?” George offers, staring at the ceiling. 

Dream wheezes, rolling over and pulling George close. “God, I love you.” 

Silence. Dream thinks nothing of it until he realises what he said, and slaps a hand over his mouth. 

“Uh, I mean—“ George shuts him up with a quick kiss, one that managed to leave Dream both sated and wanting more. 

“I love you too.” He avoids eye contact. “I _guess_.” 

Dream lets out another wheeze, something he hadn’t done in so long that it feels almost unnatural, but he realises that everything he does feels natural around George. 

George finally makes the connection in his head. 

_Almost as if Dream loves him_. 

He wraps an arm around Dream’s torso tightly, pulling him impossibly closer, bringing one of his hands to his lips and kisses his bloody knuckles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my GOD this took forever 😐


End file.
